


Enter Stage Left

by Hermaline75



Series: Five for Edith/Lucille [3]
Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe, B-Movies, Drug Use, F/F, Golden Age Hollywood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermaline75/pseuds/Hermaline75
Summary: It's tricky enough being an actress's assistant.It's even trickier when she's Lucille Sharpe, former stage artiste slumming it in movies she considers far below her talent.
Relationships: Edith Cushing/Lucille Sharpe
Series: Five for Edith/Lucille [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598167
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Enter Stage Left

**Author's Note:**

> Five random tropes that led to this fic:
> 
> 1\. Nose Tapping  
> 2\. Quicksand Sucks  
> 3\. Insult Backfire  
> 4\. Everyone Chasing You  
> 5\. Vaudeville Hook

"Help me! Help!"

Edith sprinted up the stairs following the screams, bursting into the dressing room, out of breath and getting a brief shriek for her trouble.

"Do you mind?!"

Oh... Oh, dear.

Her eyes had rapidly taken in stockings and garters, a sheer black robe with a fur trim, bright red lipstick and shining hair, spinning on her heel and stammering.

"I'm so sorry, Miss. I heard you yelling and I thought..."

"I was _rehearsing."_

"It was very realistic, Miss. I'm sorry."

Edith winced and waited to be dismissed. Then again, she hadn't really wanted to work in pictures anyway, at least not like this. Not as an all-round fetcher and carrier for starlets and divas.

And everyone said Lucille Sharpe was the biggest diva of the lot of them. She chewed up more assistants than food by all accounts.

This could very well be her first and last day.

"Come here. Let me look at you."

She'd stood up, wrapping her robe over a short black slip that left precious little to the imagination. Edith tried her best not to stare, even as her mouth went a little dry, forcing herself to cross the floor.

It was much harder to resist wincing away from the sudden reach of her hand, seizing a lock of Edith's hair.

"Goodness," she said, those clipped theater vowels. "What a lovely color. Is it natural?"

"Uh... Uh, yes, Miss."

"Shame. Still, I'm to be dark for this picture, happily. The bleach does absolutely nothing for me. Be a dear and fetch me some ice water, would you?"

Edith stepped out of the room in something of a daze, unsure what had just happened. Ice water. Right. That she could do.

"Has she yelled at you yet?" the make-up girl asked as she passed.

"A little. But only for a second."

"Try not to piss her off before I have to deal with her."

It was going to be a difficult ask. From what she'd heard, Lucille was... difficult. Apparently she'd been a very successful stage performer in her home country and coming to America to act in movies wasn't proving to be the easiest of transitions.

Edith definitely got that impression as she stood by with an ashtray, the director talking through one of her scenes.

"So, you'll be sinking through the quicksand, screaming for help, and..."

"Why would I be screaming for help?" Lucille asked, unusual perfumed smoke curling about her head.

"Because the quicksand is sucking you under. Anyway, then..."

"That's not what quicksand does. It forms an equilibrium. You can get stuck, but you're more likely to die of dehydration than suffocation."

He blinked at her for a second, visibly screaming behind his eyes.

"For the drama of the picture, can we pretend?" he asked.

Lucille tapped off her ash, trusting Edith to be paying attention. Which she was, of course.

"I dare say we can. And then I'm rescued by a man, am I?"

"Exactly. The hero swoops in to rescue you. Or his stunt man today."

"Is it dangerous?" Edith asked.

"Well, he's going to swing in on a vine when only her hand is above the sand and pull her to safety."

"Mm-hm?" Lucille said. "And where am I really, at that point?"

Another stare, his smile never leaving his face but becoming rather more strained.

"I thought you knew. The effect is achieved using a trapdoor through a layer of sand. You'll be..."

"In the sand holding my breath?"

"Only for a moment. We'll make it look longer and more dangerous in the edit."

She sighed, stubbing out her cigarette.

"Right. Let's get on with it, then."

She shrugged off her robe, letting Edith catch it, wearing her costume of an artfully torn black skirt and blouse underneath. Edith wasn't quite sure how it could be considered practical jungle wear, but then again she wasn't wardrobe.

The whole sound stage was covered in sand, a strange blend of real and artificial plants to make up a jungle clearing, a small stone showing Lucille where to stop walking and begin to sink as the crew moved lights and cameras all around her.

She was astonishingly beautiful, Edith found herself thinking. The make-up was rather thick, but it was the shape of her face and more her general bearing that drew the eye. It was like she had been trained to stand, trained to be elegant.

"Action!"

Was it acting that made her seem genuinely frightened by the floor giving way or was it for real? Certainly the scream sounded horribly realistic, pleas for help as she sank beneath the golden sand, leaving just one perfect hand above the surface as the camera moved closer on its track.

The stunt man was ready and harnessed, swinging in and seizing her wrist, yanking with a strength that made Edith wince. That had to hurt.

Emerging with a loud, yet somehow ladylike gasp, Lucille was pulled out, automatically swooning into her rescuer's arms.

"Cut!"

And now she was slapping him.

"Why don't you just dislocate my arm while you're at it?"

"Jeez, I'm sorry! You're heavier than you look, lady."

She stormed out and Edith hovered for a moment, unsure what exaxtly to do, eventually deciding to follow, see if she could help.

"Where'd you find that one?" she heard the stuntman ask.

"England. The studio are insisting on her. Something about adding gravitas..."

Edith slipped silently up the stairs, tapping the open door of the dressing room.

"Go away," came the voice behind a changing screen.

"Can I get you anything?"

A brief pause.

"There's a compact on my dressing table. Pass it over."

Silver, monogrammed and rattling slightly when Edith picked it up, carefully angling her hand round the edge.

She also closed the door. It seemed a little privacy might be in order.

"I've played them all, you know," Lucille said, her voice a little thick. "Juliet. Nora in A Doll's House. Antigone. And now here I am filming utter tripe where I'm not even the endgame love interest."

No, she wasn't. She was the vamp, the temptation thrown in the hero's way before he went back to his childhood sweetheart because nice boys didn't marry that kind of woman.

"You have more scenes than her, I think," Edith said, trying to cheer her up.

"But the whole thing is idiotic. That's why I keep making them explain things to me in minute detail. I hope they'll realize how ridiculous it all is, but it doesn't seem to be working."

Edith hadn't seen the full script, but from what she could tell, the plot was something about Lucille's character being mistaken by natives - a concept she wasn't entirely comfortable with, especially knowing the actors playing them were from Canada rather than anywhere distant - as some sort of reincarnation of a goddess - understandable, perhaps - and the hero had to rescue her and travel with her through the jungle to safety. It wasn't exactly high literature.

Lucille emerged, wrapped up in a different robe, holding out her arm.

"Do you think it's going to bruise?" she asked.

Delicately, Edith touched her, keeping her fingers light around the slightly pinkened flesh, trying to judge. Her skin was so soft, smooth on her wrist, almost luminous in the light from the mirror.

"I don't think so. Only very slightly if it does."

Lucille didn't seem convinced, pouting. It was the kind of look that a certain type of man would do a lot for. Edith could just imagine it.

A little more pressing was how much she wanted to stand on tiptoe and try to kiss it away.

Just a momentary thought. A woman like this wouldn't ever look at her as anything but a helper. Just another face to be ordered around.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked with that in mind.

"I want whisky, but I don't suppose I ought to drink while I'm working. I have no intention of giving them another take of that, though. I'll be shaking sand out of my bra for weeks. What's next on the schedule?"

It seemed she'd be spending rather a lot of time in peril today. As well as the quicksand, there were poisonous snakes and several near falls. They moved the plants around between each scene and brought in boulders to give the illusion of a different space. It was ingenious, really.

Edith eyed the serpent nervously in its tank as it was wheeled in, yellow and gray and huge, tasting the air with flicks of its tongue.

"So it's constricting me?" Lucille asked, distinctly brighter about her new co-star than the other humans involved.

"No, no - have you read the script?" the director said. "It's deadly poisonous."

"Oh, nonsense," Lucille said, lifting it from the tank and looping it over her shoulders. "You're a constrictor, aren't you, sweetheart? Not venomous at all."

"Jesus Christ, I'm working with a madwoman..."

She fixed him with a look, bright and happy but with steel underneath.

"Thank you for noticing."

She was still smiling as he walked away to start setting things up, gently stroking the snake's head with the tip of one finger.

"Do you mean it?" Edith asked her softly. "Are you... not very well?"

A little sigh.

"Must be if I keep doing this job. It's part of my mythos, though. All publicity is good publicity."

Edith wasn't sure if she thought that was true. Some of what she'd read had seemed... hurtful. There seemed to be some kind of scandal behind her leaving the theater and moving into the movies. Leaving her home to come over to America.

She was a good actress, however difficult to work with, managing to look terrified of the snake right up until each cut. It seemed to like her too, winding itself around her arms.

Or maybe it was planning to try to eat her...

Edith felt a little like that was what was happening to her as she carried Lucille's bags out to her chauffeured car and then into the hotel that she was living in during filming. She kept feeling that she was being looked at somehow intensely.

It was... very plush as suites went. Lots of marble, lots of red velvet. There was an ice bucket with champagne in it, waiting, Lucille barely out of her thick fur coat before pouring them each a glass.

"Oh," Edith said. "Oh, no, I shouldn't..."

"Just the one won't hurt," Lucille said. "I won't tell if you won't."

Well... Maybe it would be nice to taste a little luxury for once.

She took it, sipping delicately, bubbles bursting on her tongue almost sharply.

"Sit, sit," Lucille said. "Tell me all about yourself. Are you married?"

What a question.

"Uh, no. No, I'm not married."

"Oh, good. I'm not keeping you then."

Well, that wasn't... That wasn't quite true.

"I live with my father, but I told him not to wait up. I wasn't sure how late filming might go."

Lucille nodded, topping up her own glass.

"And what brought you to the film business?"

A blush played around Edith's face, taking another sip.

"My dream is to write," she said. "But, well... It's difficult to get your foot in the door. I thought any experience in the business might help me."

"Contacts often work better than experience. If you ever want to send a script my way, I'll take a look. Couldn't possibly be worse than the dross I'm doing tomorrow. I mean, showgirl dancing... Really? Have you seen the outfit they're making me wear?"

Edith had. It was... short. And very shiny. And she'd definitely seen more comfortable looking garments.

"You'd look good in anything though," she said.

Lucille looked at her, all eyelashes and softness and Edith suddenly had to leave because she was surely misreading this whole situation because otherwise...

"I think I ought to go home," she said, finishing her champagne.

"Shame."

"I'll... I'll see you tomorrow."

Rather a lot of her, as it turned out. Edith had to help her into the corset while the seamstresses sewed her in. Despite herself, her heart hammered in her chest, aware that later she would probably have to do this the other way.

Everything was feathers and smoke, chatting dancers and bored musicians. Most attention seemed to be on the lead actor though, a gaggle of attendants flocking around him while the director tried to talk through the scene.

"She's singing, she's dancing, then you notice the man with the poison dart and so you use the hook to pull her to safety."

He looked to Lucille to see if she had any comments to make, but she seemed rather subdued. Maybe tired even.

It was shaping up to be a long day...

Lucille danced for what seemed like hours. Edith wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it. But between takes, sipping water and leaning against the wall, she looked exhausted.

"Can I get you a coffee or something?" Edith asked.

"I'm fine. It's just difficult to breathe in this damn thing."

That didn't sound fine. Even in the reverse shots, she still danced the whole routine to help keep the rhythm of the scene, the fixed smiles of her backing performers making them look strangely like dolls. Like they were clockwork, wound up and set twirling.

Eventually, they got to the hook, the hero using his wits to pull her to safety from the side of stage using the only thing to hand. Edith was fairly sure the idea was to get it around her waist, but frankly her neck was closer to the diameter required.

She watched them struggle for a little while before sidling over to the director where he was looking like he wanted the ground to open and swallow him up.

"Why doesn't he hook her arm?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"When she has her hand on her hip, he could hook her arm. Might be easier."

He frowned, but raised up his loud hailer.

"Try hooking her arm during the dance."

Much better. Much more natural, forcing her into a sideways duck, exactly the way that would get her out of the way of a flying dart.

"Lovely, cut! Dancers, thank you very much. We'll move on."

They limped out, some of them taking off their shoes or loosening corsets as they went. Aesthetics were clearly more important than comfort in this business.

"I'm going to powder my nose," Lucille announced. "Edith, would you mind getting my compact for me?"

Literally powdering her nose, perhaps? Make-up wouldn't be best pleased if she messed up their hard work...

She ran upstairs to fetch it anyway, back down the stairs and into the bathroom, only then realizing that she hadn't taken a brush with her.

"Is there an applicator inside it?" she asked.

"What?"

"Your make-up."

"Oh... Oh, yes, there's a flat little brush in it. Pass it under the door, will you?"

Edith was suddenly suspicious. Surely it would be easier to use the big mirror? But maybe hers had magnification in it.

"Shit, I can't get out of this fucking leotard."

"Can't you... pull it to the side or something?"

"No. Can you get me some scissors?"

Right, right, scissors...

She ran to wardrobe, quite breathless now.

"I need scissors."

"Why? She's not cutting anything on my watch."

"Well, she can't pee through it!"

"Ugh, fine, but I'm not sewing it up afterwards."

They were small at least, but still, Edith was aware that she was probably about to have to take a sharp object to a very sensitive area...

She found herself kneeling on the bathroom floor, pushing up the strip of cloth that was masquerading as a skirt, pulling out the stretchy fabric and trying to cut a slit in it, just enough.

And she definitely was not imagining a different situation, kneeling at Lucille's feet, getting very intimate indeed.

"OK," she said. "OK, I think that's it."

She slipped out of the cubicle, letting Lucille lock it again, scissors in one hand and picking up her compact from the floor in the other. Might as well take them both back, save herself more running around.

The seamstress eyed the compact strangely, raising her eyebrows.

"Got you carrying her supply around?"

"It's just a little powder," Edith said.

"Right," she said, tapping the side of her nose. "Powder. Sure."

Edith made her way up the stairs, troubled. It was just powder, right? Then again, Lucille hadn't looked different. She didn't look like she'd put on any make-up.

Closing the door behind her, she slipped the little catch, opening it.

Mirror. Little cover to protect from smudges.

But that was not powder under it. Those were little white pills.

Her heart sank. There weren't many innocent explanations she could think of for having a secret supply like this. The best was that she had a prescription she didn't want anyone to know about. But what for? What kind of illness?

No. No, she was lying to herself. These were not given to Lucille by any doctor.

Her stomach was roiling as she went down to the sound stage, the talky scenes being filmed. Lucille was in full flow opposite the leading man, all pout and huge eyes, vulnerable, needing rescued. A fantasy.

"But I don't understand," she was saying. "Why me?"

"The local tribe believe in a goddess named Mortala, a queen of death and seduction. They believe she returns every hundred years to control men and that she must be killed before she brings destruction upon their land. And they believe you are her."

"But I'm just a singer from England!"

He took her hand, intense, burning blue eyes and lantern jaw.

"I'm going to get you out of here, dollface. All you gotta do is trust me."

"And cut!" the director yelled. "Set up for the reverse shot please."

Edith was sure she'd be dreaming of this scene after all the times she heard it over and over again. And that meant there was very little to distract her from worrying about what to do next.

Should she confront her? Ask about it? Or should she just let it go, pretend she didn't know?

She felt it might be better to be honest. After all, she was trustworthy. She wouldn't tell anyone. But maybe she could... help somehow. Encourage her to stop.

And now who was having fantasies about rescuing people?

"Can I get out of this wretched thing now?" Lucille asked, tugging at the laces of her corset. "I didn't even have lunch in case it burst."

"Yeah, great. Good work today."

Edith took her shoes when they were pressed into her hands, noting dark stains in them.

"You're bleeding," she said.

"Yes. Nothing some bandages and ice can't help."

Any eroticism of removing her clothes was rather spoiled by the deep red marks left all over her skin, taking deep breaths before slipping behind her screen to change fully.

Maybe she could just get it over with...

"I, er... I know your secret, Miss Sharpe. But it's alright. I won't tell anyone."

The rustle of clothes stopped, a moment's pause.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It wasn't my intention. I've just been... very lonely since I came here."

Maybe the pills were against depression. That might explain her reticence to let anyone know.

"It's your business, really. I just hope you're not doing yourself any harm."

Lucille popped her head around the screen.

"What are you talking about?"

Edith blinked at her, slightly lost.

"I... I know I shouldn't have, but I found your pills."

"Oh... Oh, I thought you meant..."

"What?"

A raised eyebrow, a look of incredulity.

"Well, I invited you into my hotel room, plied you with champagne and asked if you were married. I felt the implications were fairly clear."

Oh...

Well, that was unexpected.

"I... I didn't realize."

"It was a stupid pass at a pretty face. I'm sorry."

Edith had a moment where she saw her life split into two paths, one where she took this opportunity and one where she did not, and which was the right path was not remotely clear but she suspected she might regret the path not travelled...

"I... I think then that your secret might be my secret too," she said very quickly. "I'm... I also..."

"And you didn't notice how I was looking at you?"

The blush seemed to start somewhere around the top of her head and grow down her face.

"I never imagined someone like you would."

Her heart fluttered as Lucille came round the screen, her blouse still mostly undone, looking her up and down in open desire. She had to be dreaming, surely...

Lucille swept her into her arms - she'd never been swept before - turning her and lifting her a tiny bit onto the dressing table, so, so close, so warm.

Her lips were so soft when they kissed, tasting a little ashy, Edith letting out a little sigh when Lucille pulled back.

"Shall we go somewhere more private?"

Edith nodded, excited, almost certain it had to be written all over her face to anyone who saw her as she gathered up the bags and took them down to the waiting car.

Was this really happening? It wasn't a joke or anything was it?

No, Lucille's hand over hers out of the driver's eyeline was sure. This was a real invitation.

The moment the elevator doors closed behind them, Lucille pulled her close once again, making her dizzy, already undoing the ties on the back of her dress, half stumbling towards what turned out to be an absolutely enormous bed.

She seemed rather surprised when Edith was the one straddling her though, trying to kiss and undo buttons at the same time.

It was almost instinctive. She wanted so badly to please her, to show how wonderful she thought she was. Yes, she was spiky and harsh sometimes, but Edith was sure there was a softer side to her, something she'd seen glimmers of.

And she desperately wanted to be the one to draw that out. She wanted Lucille to be soft with her, to feel safe and let down her armor.

Maybe they could start with clothes, though.

The marks from the corset were gone, leaving a body that was far, far too normal to belong to one so glamorous. Stretch marks and freckles and hair, a wonderful, beautiful ordinariness. Edith kissed her way from Lucille's clavicle, down over her sternum, lower and lower, peeling off her stockings and finally having her completely bare.

"Have you done this before?" Lucille asked, her chest rising and falling very quickly.

"No, but I want to."

She did, desperately. And she wasn't going to let a lack of experience get in her way.

Shrugging off her dress, left in just her slip, she settled herself between Lucille's thighs, feeling very privileged indeed to be able to see her like this, hair tousled against the sheets.

Edith's lips tingled with warmth as she kissed up her legs, almost dizzy at the realization that she could smell her arousal in the air, blending headily with her perfume, so familiar, so like herself in a strange way.

She'd often fantasized about this moment but never in her wildest imagination had she ever dared to picture someone so elegant.

Before her nerves could make themselves known over her excitement, she parted Lucille's folds and ran her tongue daringly up her slit, elated when she gasped, already responding when Edith felt they had hardly begun.

She knew her own body well enough to guess where the right place would be, the tiny bud of flesh, slightly darker pink, meeting the tip of her tongue as Lucille arched towards her, hips almost leaving the mattress.

"Don't tease me," she gasped. "Please, please..."

She so rarely said that word, part of being harsh and troublesome, pushing everyone away, but here she wanted only closeness.

Wanted only Edith.

And she loved being wanted.

She settled into a rhythm, flicking her tongue quickly back and forth over that firmness, trying to match the way she explored her own pleasure, trusting it must be similar.

And it seemed her instincts were right. Lucille keened and sighed above her, transported almost, her thighs bracketing Edith's head, surrounding her utterly.

If her tongue wasn't growing tired, she'd be happy to stay like this forever.

She wasn't sure what exactly she was feeling when finally Lucille shook and trembled, that tightening of muscles that she knew so well herself, that warmth. Pride, certainly, that was the main thing. She'd been brave. She'd done well.

Lucille pulled her up her body, into her arms and into kisses, still out of breath as she rolled her onto her back and ran a bold hand up her thigh.

"Is this alright?"

"Yes."

Soon she was utterly helpless, in thrall to Lucille's fingers, the way she rubbed her thumb against the most sensitive part of her while pressing inside too...

No one else had ever made her feel this way. It wasn't love, but she felt in her heart that it maybe could be.

She lay panting at the ceiling afterwards, Lucille gently stroking her chest, soothing her back to the rest of the world.

"What are you thinking?"

Edith cleared her throat.

"I'm thinking I should think of excuses to stay the night."

***

The shoot passed much too quickly, but so much had happened by the time they were taking the picture for the poster.

It was a striking tableau. Lucille with the hero grabbing her hand while a whole group of people chased her through the jungle.

She hadn't stopped taking her pills, not completely, but she was cutting down slowly. Edith had somehow almost forgotten about them until the morning after their first evening together.

They were meant to keep her awake, apparently, make her able to dance and act for longer periods. You couldn't stop taking them all at once. But Edith had faith. She was trying, for her.

"What are you doing after this?" the director asked her as the photographers flitted about.

"Hmm?"

She'd been writing. A script. Only the outline so far, but she was starting to flesh it out a little whenever she had time.

"You've been a very calming presence on set. I was hoping you might be available for my next shoot."

She smiled at him, shaking her head.

"Miss Sharpe has asked me to be her personal assistant. I've accepted. I'll be going wherever she goes next."

He'd raised his eyebrows, evidently surprised.

"Rather you than me. The instability for one thing. I hear she chages assistants as often as clothes."

Lucille caught her eye from under the lights, winking almost imperceptibly.

"I think she was just looking for the right person."


End file.
